


Scar

by infinitrinx



Series: TLC (Tender Loki Care) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Cutting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jötunn Loki, Loki gives a hug, Reader-Insert, References to Torture, Scars, Self-Harm, TLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3937534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitrinx/pseuds/infinitrinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To anyone feeling insecure about their scars, Loki will be there to remind you of your worth.</p><p>No smut, no angst. Just you and Loki with cuddles and caresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scar

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise in advance and warn that the Loki depicted here does not fit into any cinematic universe. Mostly because he's very much redeemed, enamoured by you and not a dick.  
> Enjoy.

Loki sits next to you, legs crossed and back ram-rod straight. His thigh is ever so close to yours. You can feel the heat of his skin, a ghosting almost-but-not-quite touch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, gently, quietly. If his voice was a touch it was a caress.  
“Ahh…” he says not a second later. You never need to answer him. Loki knows you inside and out. He’s tasted your thoughts, swum in your feelings and slept in your flesh. He always knows.

His spider-like fingers close on your wrists, the same almost-touch that you somehow feel every detail of. His palms are firm and dry on the inside of your wrist, so large he captures both your hands in one of his and lures them to his lips. All the while, Loki never looks away from you. He sets a kiss right where your hand meets your forearm, barely a whisper of flesh on flesh, and inches his way up.

Up, up, up, Loki makes it his task to ensure not a spot of your skin goes unworshipped, never breaking eye contact. His lips brush against your scars and you feel his breath against your skin. Inhale, exhale, kiss. Loki’s eyes are stuck somewhere between green and blue. You’re stuck somewhere inbetween burrowing yourself in his comfort and concealing your flaws under blankets and ice cream. His barely there grip tightens when you try to pull your arm back to yourself.

His fingers snake their way down your wrist and guides your fingers to those lips of his. He presses your fingers to them, running them across the tender flesh. White lines, scar tissue is what your finger meets with. Pale reminders of a past pain. You remember the Norse tale about Loki getting his mouth sown shut.

He breaks contact with your hand briefly then, to roll up the hem of his long sleeve shirt. His wrist is scarred too. But not like yours. A thick band of bumpy, marred flesh, paler than his usual complexion, splashes its way around his wrist. The other wrist was revealed to be in the same state. The only thing you can think of that could have made wounds like those are handcuffs. Or manacles. Asgard is quite medieval in its torture. You take time to feel the imperfect skin. Loki rests his hands in your care to be explored.

Then suddenly your hand is back in your lap and Loki is tugging his shirt of and you can’t peel your eyes away from the lean lines of defined muscle.  
He’s carved from marble, pale, perfect, untouchable. He’s a god. His shirt falls to the ground and his abs clench as he stands. Then he’s not standing but kneeling before you and there’s a god kneeling before you.

Then there’s a Jotunn kneeling before you.  
The blue creeps up his skin and he’s no longer alabaster but he’s no less, if not more, otherworldly. Blue consumes his features, up his clenched jawline, into the planes of his cheekbones until the transformation concludes into his hairline. He opens his eyes. They’re entirely red and they stare at you caught somewhere in the middle of certainty and insecurity.

The room is noticeably colder. Your breath and his float out in clouds and the tip of your toes start to numen. Loki reaches for you, hesitates a brief moment, before claiming your hand in his. The contact ignites a shiver through you from the base of your spine to the crown of your head and goosebumps rise on your arms, not exactly unpleasant. 

His grip is different the same way dawn and dusk are the same and different. It’s not a different pressure or weight. But his hands conveyed a small desperate urgency as if he was afraid you would recoil despite knowing you won’t.  
Loki cradles your hand, bringing it up to rest on a swooping ridge on his chest. You lift both your hands to trace the pattern of him. Over his chest, swirling up and up his shoulders, past his neck, to his face where you finished with the curve along his forehead. You retrace a pattern along his cheekbone and he sighs out a shudder.

The billow of cool air leaves a minty feeling on the inside of your wrist. Your blemished wrists. You tuck your hand back into your chest.  
A pink tongue darts out to wet Loki’s lips. You hear him parting them even as you look away.  
“My dear, you teach me to love myself when I am a monster. You love me despite knowing who and what I am.” Loki’s tender hand cups your cheek, “Do spare some love for yourself.”

Loki is soundless as he gets up, the epitome of elegance and supressed power. You feel his almost-but-not-quite touch between his and your thigh. The body temperature emanating beneath his thin clothing is warm again.  
“Love, we all have our own scars.”  
He takes your hand again. Entangling his digits in yours firmly, steadily without intention of release.  
“Do not be ashamed of yours.”  
The pad of his thumb wipes away any tears that may have fallen and his hand combs its way through your hair once every droplet has been caught. He’s still holding your hand tightly. The pressure is constant, unwavering. Its solid and firm and its Loki.  
“You're my goddess.”

You look at him to find he’s been staring at you with those eyes brimming with years of experience and knowledge you will never understand and he pulls you close. Your head is flush against his bear chest and he folds himself around you, slowly lowering you both to lie down. His muscled arms circle your waist and his chin is tucked into your head and your legs are tangled in his and you fit into him like a puzzle. His exposed flesh radiates calming warmth at every point of contact. You can smell the scent of leather on his skin, the lingering presence of his armour, mixed in with masculine musk and his minty shampoo.

“I will be ready and waiting whenever you have need of me.” Loki speaks into your hair.  
The low vibration of his speech rumbles from his rhythmically rising and falling chest through your back into your bones. Your scalp tickles with every timed inhale and exhale. He’s swirling patterns into your hip and you’re wrapped entirely up in safety and Loki.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ok this is my first post on ao3 and I do not know what I am doing. I do not know how to use tags or anything oh dear.
> 
> Ignoring my internal crisis, thank you for reading. I hope we've (Loki and I) made you feel better. Remember that you're a beautiful person who is worthy of Mjolnir.  
> I wrote this because I, myself, am not totally sane up there and sometimes I just really want my favourite characters to hold me. I've searched up before if any such ficlets existed but its mostly reader offering comfort to Loki (because hellooo, that boy has some issues man) and nearly none of Loki offering comfort to reader.
> 
> I wanted to rectify this.
> 
> So presenting to you: TLC (Tender Loki Care)  
> Yeah, my series has an awesome title. So proud of my genius.
> 
> Please comment/share/kudos if you think me worthy.
> 
> Take care of yourself!  
> Trinity <3


End file.
